My ten-year-old jumped in the front seat of the van from the car rider line and slammed the door. I sensed that she had a rough day by her scowling expression. Of course, my parental instincts kick in and the first thing that I want to ask is, “how was your day?” I have never gotten a good response that way, it is always a short reply of, “good,” or “okay” but never an elaboration of what exactly that entailed. I took a breath and tried to think about what I could say not to set her off and help her know that I genuinely care and wanted to know about her day. I started asking questions that I thought she would appreciate better, “what did you learn today?” and "How did your presentation go?" This didn't seem to work as she let out an irritated sigh, “Mom, I had a long day.” She continued to look out the window, I could tell that she felt like I wouldn't understand what she was going through, I mean how could a lame old Mom like me possibly understand what her kids were going through? I had never been young once, right? I needed to hear what was happening in her world, because even though she was only ten and it may seem like she shouldn't have much to worry about from a grown up perspective, I had to understand that she's growing up in a different world than I did. Her emotions and problems would be much different than what I faced when I was her age. I admit, I am guilty of thinking; "what in the world could she be facing that was so horrible at her age?" However, she needed to know that I would always be a listening ear, her safe place to come to about anything. That was important. With caution, I started speaking, “When I was in fifth grade,” waiting for her to let out an annoyed sigh, I paused briefly. She sat silent, so I continued, “I felt alone. I didn't have many friends, I certainly didn't dress like a cool kid, and I was shy. Nobody really wanted to talk to a shy girl or try to hang around a dorky kid with beat up sneakers. If they approached me to try to play with me or talk to me, I always thought that it was a mistake, I didn't feel good enough to be around them, so I kept quiet most of the time. Some would poke at me and laugh and I knew the jokes were about me, but I would laugh with them or smile back. I willed myself not to let their actions bother me, though it was hard. I can honestly say that it did hurt, but I got through it because I knew that it wouldn't last forever. No matter how bad I felt, I didn't let them see it. They didn't get the best of me. It didn't bother me to be alone, most of the time I had my thoughts and that was good enough for me. Even though it was hard, I would stay myself. It can be easy to lose yourself when you're trying to discover who you are or where you fit in, but your heart always knows what's best and you need to listen to it. Despite hard times, my fifth-grade year ended up being one of my favorite years in school, I learned so much and had a lot of fun.” I hoped that something in that story would help, anything. I was going on nothing, walking into this world of hers with my eyes closed in hopes to help her through any darkness and push her to her light. She watched me while I told her about my younger years, her expression changing. When we pulled up to a red light, her demeanor softened, “Mom, I want to be a bully.” I was completely caught off guard, and for an instant, my heart was plagued with panic. I have always raised my kids to be kind to others, instilling in them that being mean or bullying is the wrong way to go. I was not expecting that to come from my story at all. Parenting is hard, often I feel like I am a failure at it, and this was most certainly one of those times. I closed my eyes, trying to hide my emotions, and willed myself to see it from her point of view. I stayed quiet and let her continue. “Listen Mom," she began as she watched me intently, "there's this kid and she's been picking on me and my friends for a while. We have tried to be kind and make friends, but it's like the harder we try, the worse she gets. She tells lies about us to our other friends and classmates, it makes us feel bad. I know that maybe her home life has a lot to do with it, but I would like to step into her shoes; the shoes of a bully and truly see how she's feeling. I want to understand why she feels like she needs to mistreat others to make herself feel better so that I can find a way to make her, and others like her see that they don't have to be like that. I just want to understand it." Glancing over at me, she smiled, "I know what you were thinking, Mom. I don't want to bully others. I wouldn't want anyone to feel bad. I want to understand what drives a bully to be a bully and help them.” I couldn't stop my mouth from falling open, I was lost. My heart was filled with pride for her and my mind was blown. often I ask who the parent is. I learn the most from my children, even when I think I know better.

Looking at the mirror, I see myself with a sense of peace today. Devoid of any makeup or accessory, late at night, my reflection smiles back at me. Sometimes it is a smile of joy and victory, sometimes of heart-wrenching sadness. But these is always an odd sort of comfort, like the feeling of slipping into your favorite pair of worn out pajamas. Or the feeling of coming back home after a long, tiring day. This solace was earned, not gifted. I was born as a confident and happy child. Never really caring about my looks, I do not remember ever worrying about how people saw me. My teenage years were not so carefree, however. They were tainted by remarks about how my ugly self did not deserve any company, let alone sympathy. I looked at the mirror then too, but with feelings of contempt and despair. My confidence hit rock-bottom. I did things to myself I am not proud of. I have always had long hair, now I hid my face behind it. Walking through the school corridors, I hung my head low. I had few friends; people distanced themselves from me as if I carried an infectious disease. It can take years of contemplation to make a change happen, but in hindsight you can always find a turning point that acted as the catalyst. My turning point came in the form of a random woman in a random convenience store. She kept stealing glances at me, making me extremely conscious of my appearance. Just when I could no longer bear the scrutiny and was about to bolt, she walked over to me and said in broken English, “You're very pretty.” I stared at her, dumbfounded. What was this strange woman saying? My face was bare; my hair, which I consider my best physical feature, was tied in a bun. She looked over me once again, then said in a decisive tone, “Yes, very beautiful.” She waited a few seconds for me to make a reaction, during which I barely managed to gather my wits and mumbled a faint thank you. Then she left, leaving me extremely confused among aisles of snacks and scattered thoughts. I believe in miracles, I am forced to believe in them since that incident. Now whether the miracle came to me or I made it happen was another question. I have reasons to think that the whole thing was a figment of my imagination. My brain could have simply conjured this up to pull myself out of the pathetic state I was in. I do not remember a thing about the woman; her face, her clothes, her voice, nothing. Just the words. If you are thinking I suddenly discovered my hidden beauty, got a wardrobe upgrade and showed the world what a catch I was, then I apologize for being the cause of disappointment, but no such thing happened. I did not feel particularly beautiful after that encounter, but it did eventually bring clarity to my thoughts. For one, there was no great change in my appearance that could have suddenly sparked such hatred among my peers. Sure, my body was changing thanks to puberty, but my face was essentially the same as it was before I was bullied. Thinking hard, I traced back to the inception of my suffering: a certain comment from a mean classmate who was always jealous of me for some unfathomable reason. Historically speaking, being the subject of envy has never worked out in my favor. At that time, the consequences of a single snide remark were two whole years of self-hate and being treated like an outcast. It took me months to come to terms with the fact that the harassment had nothing to do with the way I looked. More than a year later, I finally learned to fight back and recovered my lost self-confidence. I did nothing to change my appearance. This experience has greatly shaped the way I feel about beauty as an adult. In my 22 years of existence I have been fortunate enough to live in three different countries and meet countless beautiful people, as well as a few ugly ones. Before you jump the gun, let me clarify that beauty, or the lack of it, does not simply refer to the so-called golden ratio or the symmetry of a person's face. At least not in my dictionary. To me, the most beautiful person in the world would be empathetic. Confident, yet not arrogant. Bold, yet not disrespectful. Physically, well, there is no single way to be beautiful. There is no denying the fact that the first thing you see in a person is his/her face. It is out there for the world to see, and it is convenient to judge thanks to the many beauty standards society has imposed upon us. The problem arises when we take the easy way and try to figure out a person's character based on his/her looks. Stop. Because this is where you should stop. Not only are you putting unfair expectations on that person, but you are also making a fool out of yourself. I now listen to the people worthy of my love and admiration to evaluate my beauty. Most importantly, I listen to myself. Do I think I am beautiful? Physically, I consider myself just normal, and I love it. But truly? I am on my way there, though I still have a long way to go.

School isn't one of the easiest places to be yourself. When most people get to school they become a different person from whom they actually are. Not even because they want to, but because they feel they'll get judged or bullied if they don't fit in. I helped my friend overcome bullying. From 3rd-6th grade my best friend and I did everything together, from birthday parties to library visits. She was fun to be around and different, I thought; others didn't. My best friend was about 5'9 and dark skin with short hair. She didn't wear designer clothes, so people wouldn't give her a chance. My most judgmental friend disliked my best friend for no exact reason. She didn't even attempt to get to know my best friend. My judgmental friend chose to pick on my best friend about her height and said inappropriate things about how she dresses; others followed. While at my best friend's house one day, I knew something was wrong. She finally told me that at times she feels so down and insecure to where she hates who she is. When I heard that, I said everything I could to let her know how amazing she was, not only as friend but a person. I felt awful, even if she never spoke up for herself, I should've. That whole night, it was on my mind, I knew there was something I had to do. I either had to pick sides, or do something to make my judgmental friend know my best friend, just as I. That's when I got my idea. The next day I brought my idea to the principal and counselor's attention. They were all for it. When it was time for lunch I made my announcement for a “Lunchtime Mix-Up.” Students had to sit with someone they didn't know or didn't usually sit with. It was mandatory and anyone who didn't participate had to eat last. I hoped the two would end up at a table together; they actually did, and I joined them as mediator. By the end of lunch they talked out their problems without yelling or arguing. They didn't become the closest of friends but my judgmental friend stopped bullying my best friend. My principal was really proud that I decided to do this. I never let her know why I did it but I'm happy it turned out well. I was really happy because I did not want to have to choose sides. Who knows how that would've turned out? It also makes me think, who else could've been getting hurt or bullied and no one knew or paid attention? Not only did I fix the situation myself but I started something that benefited others. Not everyone wanted to participate and that was fine; they missed out. Since it was such a success, we decided to make every Monday's lunchtime a “Mix-Up Monday.” It was a free, brilliant and safe resolution. There's not one thing in this world that becomes perfect over night, so yeah it had some adjusting to get use to. Once everyone got use to it, it was more than fun. It was a life lesson. You're never gonna be exactly like someone else, but that does make you better either. Nor does it make you less valuable, you're just as amazing as anyone else.

When I picked up the book 13 reasons why at a book store many years ago I had no clue it would change my life. I didn't know that I was fixing to read my story written by a stranger. A noticeable difference is that I am 31 and still alive. I lived Hannah's life but I made it. When I was 15 years old a friend called me one Friday night. She was intoxicated at a party with all males. She wasn't comfortable and asked if I could walk across the street to where the party was and stay with her. I thought nothing of it and told my parents I was sleeping over with the neighbor (just not the neighbor they thought). I cared for my friend and got her to bed with no issues. I locked her in the room and made sure none of the males present went near the room. We had all been friends for years with the exception of an older guy there. He was very attractive, rich and popular. As the early morning hours approached the friends all started to pass out. I was given my own room and soon found myself fast asleep. I woke up to the guy I didn't know asking if he could crash in there with me because the rest of the beds were taken. I remember hearing the door lock and even telling him that was a fire safety issue. I wasn't nervous because I was in a house full of people I had known for several years. I must have fallen back to sleep quickly but that wouldn't last. I was awoken to him on top of me, forcing himself inside me. I was a virgin and scared truly to make a noise. I think I may have whimpered but that only made it worse. I don't know how long it lasted. I remember he left the room and didn't come back in. I was scared to leave the room. When morning came I practically ran home. I can remember my friends calling me the next 2 days asking what had happened because the male was saying things about me that were not nice. I realized later that he immediately started saying things about my character so people would believe him when he said he never touched me. I had no intentions of telling anyone but made sure no one would believe me if I did. Something I didn't realize was that he was already 18 which made what he did statutory rape. I can remember that first day back at school how all my friends shunned me. People I had known since elementary school treated me like I did something wrong. I never told my parents. I quit cheerleading and the school newspaper. I didn't talk about it with my childhood best friends. They knew something was wrong but I shut down anytime I was asked. Things moved on and I finished the year barely passing after having been an straight a student. I thought for sure the next year would be better as junior but I was shocked the first day of school to find that my attacker had been held from graduation and would be back at the school for another year. Not only was he back at school but would be in some of my classes. I told myself that I could handle this by just pretending he didn't exist but he seemed that he needed to make my life hard. He would say things under his breath when I talked, he would loudly make comments about my reputation and would try to turn my few peers in the class against me. After a few weeks of this abuse I started taking sleeping medicine to get past the nightmares. One day he seemed particularly nasty towards me and called me to his table during lunch. He had some of his female friends call me some names and tell me how he would never have touched me. I took enough sleeping pills that night to never face him again. People wondered how I got the pills. I asked an older neighbor friend to get them for me. That moment of survival changed my life. I still didn't speak out of the attacker mostly out of fear. I felt like I was having a heart attack when I saw in the local paper that he been arrested with trying to pick up a 14 year old girl in a sting when he was 30. My first thought was he may have hurt other girls. I was so scared to tell and that may have left him able to harm others. I have dealt with the ptsd of the attack for years. Sometimes are better than others. Everyday I am glad that I didn't die when I wanted to so bad. I I am so happy that I got to meet a great man who understands my cold days. I am so thankful I got to be a mommy. When I hear people say that Hannah Baker from 13 reasons wanted attention I want to scream that she is real. She is me. I never asked for his bullying. I never asked for the whispers. I never wanted the sympathy. I just wanted to make the choice of my first time being with someone I loved not a stranger who prayed on virgins.